


Night at the Gallery

by Spikedluv



Series: Dec 2018 Gift Fic [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 22:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20628533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Chris arranges a private showing for Peter the night before the opening of the Fifth Annual Beacon Hills High School Art Show.





	Night at the Gallery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [020104isme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/020104isme/gifts).

> This story takes place near the end of Peter and Chris’ senior year at Beacon Hills High School. 
> 
> This story is one of my December Gift Fic and was written for 020104isme for the prompt _Teen Wolf, Peter/Chris, Art gallery date_. (Yes, the title is a riff on the movie ‘Night at the Museum’.)
> 
> Warning: Mention of bestiality , though no actual bestiality occurs in the story.
> 
> Posted: September 13, 2019

“What are we doing?” Peter said when Chris led them to the back of the building.

“I want to show you something.”

“You know I’m gonna be here tomorrow night, right?”

‘Here’ was A Light in the Dark, a small-town art gallery with a pretentious name if you didn’t know that it was located in Beacon Hills where the Nemeton served as a literal beacon for the supernatural, and was owned by a succubus that existed on the positive (and nearly erotic, in some cases) energy people gave off at an art exhibit rather than sexual energy, which made the name merely ironic. (Peter didn’t understand how such energy could be enough to live on, but his mother had slapped the idea down immediately and forcefully when Peter had suggested asking.)

To Peter’s surprise Chris produced a key. “You have permission to be here?”

“Of course. I helped with the set-up.”

A Light in the Dark was hosting the Fifth Annual Beacon Hills High School Art Show, which would showcase the final projects of a handful of art major students (along with a dozen others who’d taken an art class that semester and wanted to participate in the show).

“Not sure how that translates into it being okay for us to be here _now_.”

“Since when are you a stickler for the rules?”

“When it wasn’t my idea to break them,” Peter said.

That earned a smile from Chris, who punched a code into the keypad just inside the back door in lieu of speaking. He dragged Peter inside when he moved too slowly, then shut and locked the door behind them. Chris held Peter’s hand as he led the way along the corridor to the front of the gallery where a soft light guided their path.

Peter would’ve known that Chris was nervous even without being able to feel the rapid pulse in his wrist and the sweat on his hand. The overhead lights were off in the large gallery space, but a single row of wall lights were lit, illuminating the artwork hung on that partition. Peter glanced at the plate glass windows, but the shades had been pulled so no one got a glimpse of the art before the exhibit opened the next evening. Which also meant that no one would notice that anyone was inside the gallery when it was supposed to be closed.

Peter wondered again what they were doing here. Chris hadn’t let Peter get a glimpse of his final art project the entire time he was working on it, so he was both excited and apprehensive about being here now.

Before Peter had to ask again, Chris said, “I want to show you what I’ve been working on when it was just the two of us. Kind of a celebration. If you like it.”

“Of course I’m going to like it,” Peter said immediately. “You’re an amazing artist.”

Chris had been raised to be a hunter, to kill people like Peter, but all he wanted was to make art. And he was _good_ at it. Chris’ mother had encouraged him to develop his talent, but the only reason Gerard allowed Chris to continue to take art classes after her death was because his ability to draw would benefit them in updating the bestiary. Plus, he figured that Chris would eventually outgrow what Gerard disparagingly called ‘a hobby’ and fall into line like a good little soldier.

Peter knew better. Chris’ art was like air to him, and to give it up would be like giving up a piece of himself.

“I don’t mean the quality,” Chris said, somehow managing to not sound boastful, “but the content.”

Now Peter understood Chris’ nerves. “Well, now I’m really intrigued. Show me.”

Chris looked at Peter as if to assess his genuineness, then nodded. They walked past partitions that held paintings and sketches, past pedestals upon which sculptures sat, and under a mobile made out of garbage. Finally Chris came to a stop. Peter looked at the framed art on the wall nearest them, but didn’t see anything bearing Chris’ name.

Peter gave Chris a questioning look and Chris gestured a little further along the wall. Peter took a couple steps away from Chris, his eyes picking out Chris’ pieces before he saw the small placard with Chris’ name on it. Peter’s breath caught while his brain processed what he was seeing.

It was a series of three paintings with a Little Red Riding Hood theme, though the Red in these paintings was very clearly male. In the first, Red was walking through the woods, seemingly unaware of the slavering wolf watching from the trees. Red had been knocked to the ground in the second. He was raised up on his elbows and staring defiantly at the wolf that stood over him.

The third made Peter’s breath catch. Red’s clothing had been artfully torn off him (somehow without leaving a single mark on the bared skin) and he was on his hands and knees in the grass and pine needles with the wolf draped over his back.

“Jesus Christ,” Peter swore. He reached out, stopping his hand just before he touched the painting.

“Do you like it?” Chris said, his nerves showing in the quaver in his voice.

Peter reached out for Chris’ hand and pulled him closer. He drew Chris’ hand to his front and placed it over the swelling in his jeans.

“Oh,” Chris breathed.

“I can’t believe you drew this,” Peter said, delighted at the acknowledgment of _them_ and the profanity of it in equal measure.

Because that was definitely him and Chris. Most of Red’s face was hidden by the hood in the first two and from his head being bent low in the last, but Peter would’ve recognized Chris even without the birthmark on his left hip where the wolf’s clawed hand rested, and the yellow-eyed wolf matched what Chris had once admitted was his vision of what a fully-shifted Peter would look like.

“I wish I could fuck you like that,” Peter said, the truth of it shuddering through him. He wanted to claim Chris with everything that he was.

“You can,” Chris said. He twisted his hand out of Peter’s grip so he could hold Peter’s hand open. He placed a tube of lube into Peter’s palm. “Tonight you can.”

It wasn’t exactly what Peter had meant, but it still made him growl in his throat while he struggled to maintain control of his shift. Peter prided himself on his control, especially when Chris was around, so it was especially unnerving that Chris was the reason he’d lost control.

Peter looked around the corner of the gallery they found themselves in. “Here?”

In response, Chris went over to a bench where he’d left a backpack and produced a blanket. Peter dug his own claws into his palm to try and calm down when he imagined Chris planning out this evening. Peter needed to think of something that would keep him from coming before they even got naked.

“What about Gerard?”

Chris gave Peter a look as he finished spreading out the blanket. “You wanna talk about him now?”

“When he sees these paintings . . .”

Chris gave a bitter laugh. “He’s not going to see them. No one is. Gerard scheduled a ‘training op’ for this weekend.” He waved his arm towards the paintings. “This is just a passing fad, after all.”

Peter knew how much Chris hated Gerard, but it still wasn’t a good feeling to be dismissed by a parent. Peter wished he’d gotten a chance to meet Chris’ mom before she passed away.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, because telling Chris that it was for the best that Gerard didn’t think Chris was serious about his art wasn’t what he needed to hear right now.

Chris shook his head. “Just as well.” He looked at the paintings and gave Peter a smirk. “He’d’ve had a heart attack if he saw these.”

Peter laughed like he was supposed to. He wasn’t as calm as he wanted to be, but he needed to take Chris’ mind off his prick of a father. Peter kicked the floor.

“This floor is hard and that blanket won’t offer much cushion. It’s gonna be hell on your knees. And don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

Chris swallowed hard and Peter gloated internally. Mission accomplished.

“I know, and I don’t care. I want to be with you right here, under these paintings. I want to feel the ache in my knees tomorrow when I’m standing here talking to other students and their parents and our teachers. They’ll have no idea what happened here tonight.”

Peter imagined the ache Chris would still be feeling _other places_. Tables effectively turned. “Get your clothes off,” Peter demanded.

Chris usually gave Peter a hard time when he issued a directive like that. Do it yourself, or make me. But tonight Chris pulled off his clothes as if he couldn’t wait long enough for even that little tease. He got on his hands and knees and looked at Peter over his shoulder.

Peter removed his own clothes, forcing himself to not rush because he liked the glazed look in Chris’ eyes as he watched Peter get naked. Peter pulled off the last item of clothing and tossed it on the pile with the rest. He knelt behind Chris and just _looked_. They’d done this before, but not often. Chris still had to account to his father for his free time outside of school, so most of their encounters were rushed during pockets of stolen moments.

Peter finally allowed himself to touch. He ran his hands down Chris’ hips and the outside of his thighs, then up the back of his thighs and over his ass.

“Peter,” Chris said, his voice a tad too breathless to be demanding.

Peter slid his hands over Chris’ ass cheeks again, each pass bringing him closer to the crease between them. Chris shuddered beautifully when Peter’s thumb finally grazed his hole. Peter spread Chris’ cheeks and rubbed his thumb over the wrinkled skin until Chris’ control broke and he let out a moan and begged Peter in a cracked voice to get on with it.

“Get on with it,” Peter repeated. “And they say romance is dead.” He struggled to keep his voice even so Chris didn’t know how close Peter had come to breaking first.

The snick of the tube cap opening was loud in the otherwise empty gallery. Peter squeezed out a dollop of lube that he didn’t bother warming before wiping it across Chris’ hole. Peter ignored the jerk and cursing and pressed a finger inside Chris.

Peter was entranced by the sight of Chris opening around one finger, then two. He almost forgot about his own straining erection as he prepared Chris, stretching the ring of muscle and working the soft nub inside him until he got a reaction.

“Come on,” Chris gasped. “Do it! Get inside me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Peter managed to keep his voice from shaking, though his fingers fumbled the tube. He coated his cock with lube and dropped the tube on the blanket. He grabbed Chris’ hip with one hand and guided the head of his cock to Chris’ hole with the other.

Peter pressed in slowly so he wouldn’t hurt Chris and because he liked to watch Chris open around him. Peter paused when the head popped inside to give Chris a moment to adjust. He took a few deep breaths until the immediate need to fuck Chris with abandon receded. Peter waited with gritted teeth until Chris, panting, said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

With both hands on Chris’ hips, Peter slid all the way inside him. “I could come just from looking at your hole, all shiny with lube and stretched around me.”

“Well, I can’t,” Chris bitched, despite the reddening of the back of his neck, “so get moving.”

Peter laughed. He bent over Chris’ back and said, “As you wish.”

Peter straightened and used his grip on Chris’ hips for leverage as he pulled out and pushed back in. Peter thrust harder and it felt as if the air and been punched out of him. His claws came out and teased the skin over the birthmark on Chris’ left hip.

Chris groaned and pushed back, taking Peter even deeper. Peter batted Chris’ hand away when he reached for himself. “Let me.”

“Put your claws away first . . .” Chris’ warning broke off into a moan when Peter’s (fully human) hand curled around him.

Peter slowed his thrusts down as he moved his hand over Chris, unable to concentrate on both. Groans issued from both their throats when Chris came. This was the first time Peter had still been inside Chris when he came and made a note to try it again because it felt amazing.

Peter removed his hand when he sensed that Chris was getting too sensitive. Now that Chris had been taken care of, Peter’s own cock clamored for attention. He put his hand back on Chris’ hip, uncaring of the come that joined the lube already there.

Peter closed his eyes against the sight of Chris, boneless and pliant, and began to move once more. There was no resistance as Peter drove into Chris. He pulled Chris back with each thrust and his eyes rolled back in his head. Peter bit his lip until he tasted blood when his orgasm finally crashed over him.

Peter’s entire body went loose. He collapsed onto Chris and they toppled to the side. Peter’s cock slipped out of Chris in a wash of come.

“Aren’t you supposed to have more stamina than this?” Chris complained.

“Ngh.” Peter nuzzled into the back of Chris’ neck. He made a rapid recovery, but he still didn’t move. Peter liked being cuddled up to Chris like this, close in more ways than the physical. Peter made a sound of protest he couldn’t cut off quickly enough when Chris moved.

“I’m not going far,” Chris assured Peter. “Even though I’ve got come drying on my legs and it feels disgusting.”

Peter hummed, pleased that his scent marked Chris.

“God, you’re such a wolf,” Chris said fondly.

Chris was only gone a moment. He returned with a bottle of sparkling cider and two plastic cups. Chris sat on the blanket to open it.

Peter leaned up on one elbow. “What’s this?”

Even with Chris backlit, Peter could see the flush that covered his chest. Asking Peter to fuck him under a painting of the Big Bad Wolf fucking Little Red Riding Hood didn’t embarrass him, but sparkling cider did.

“Christopher,” Peter said, drawing it out because he loved the way Chris’ name sounded on his tongue, and Chris’ response when Peter used his full name. “Is this a date?”

“Shut up,” Chris said, cheeks pinking as he poured the cider. “Or I won’t share the cake I brought.”

Peter’s eyes darted from Chris’ hands to his face. “Cake? From Brickhouse Bakery?”

“Maybe.”

Peter sat up. “Is it the mocha? Chris, please tell me it’s the mocha.”

“It’s the mocha,” Chris said dryly.

Peter frowned. “Now I can’t tell if you’re just saying that or if it’s really the mocha.”

Chris laughed. He leaned forward and kissed Peter before handing him one of the cups. “Can’t you smell it?” Chris said after taking a sip.

“No.”

Chris gave Peter a smug look when he pulled over a plastic container that had in turn been placed inside a large zip bag to keep Peter from sniffing it out. Chris handed the plastic to Peter and produced two forks. Even though his mouth was watering now that he could see and smell the cake, Peter offered the first bite to Chris.

Chris’ eyes went soft as he carefully took the cake off the fork Peter held. He chewed around the smile he couldn’t hold back. “How hard was that?”

“Very.” Peter curled his hand around the back of Chris’ head and kissed the flavor of mocha out of his mouth. He sat back and took in Chris’ glazed expression. “But worth it.”

As they shared the rest of the slice of cake and sipped the cider, Peter thought he couldn’t possibly be any happier than he was in that moment. “I want things to stay just like this.”

“You want to live in an art gallery?”

“Will you be there? Because I want to be wherever you are, always,” Peter said, surprised by his own sappiness. He looked at the cider as if it was to blame. “Did you spike this with wolfsbane?”

Chris clasped his hands over his chest. “And his heart grew three sizes that night . . .”

“Shut up,” Peter growled.

Chris gave Peter a look from beneath his lashes. “Make me.”

A challenge Peter gladly accepted.

The End


End file.
